


The Pain We Live With

by Smooty



Series: Good Omens [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is a good Husband, Crowley Has Chronic Pain (Good Omens), Crowley Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Crowley has Depression, Crying, Depression, Disabled Character, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, The Fall - Freeform, after the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-20 21:04:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20681918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smooty/pseuds/Smooty
Summary: Crowley was used to pain. He was a demon of Hell, he’d Fallen, and he’d been punished. The ache it left inside him was constant and he found it was easier to confront it and push through it than deny it existed. He’d tried that and it’d been the worst thousand years of his life. No, better to be familiar with the pain, at least then you knew what you were in for. The hurt in his knees and in his legs, the kind that burned and ached as a reminder that no, he wasn’t meant to walk around like Her other creations. Crowley was cursed to crawl on his belly or live with the excruciating consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

Crowley was used to pain. He was a demon of Hell, he’d Fallen, and he’d been punished. The ache it left inside him was constant and he found it was easier to confront it and push through it than deny it existed. He’d tried that and it’d been the worst thousand years of his life. No, better to be familiar with the pain, at least then you knew what you were in for. The hurt in his knees and in his legs, the kind that burned and ached as a reminder that no, he wasn’t meant to walk around like Her other creations. Crowley was cursed to crawl on his belly or live with the excruciating consequences. 

But there wasn’t a type of pain that he could never quite get the hang of owning. It was one of the stronger sensations he experienced, and one of the most common. It hit him at strange times, but mostly when he was around the angel. At first he had thought it was some sort of reaction, like an allergy to Aziraphale’s holiness. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out it was something much more serious. 

He was in love. The first few seconds after he’d realized--he’d been sitting on a scratchy blanket, in the tent of a very important shepherd at the time, wishing Aziraphale had been there to provide some much-neededinteresting companionship--had been bliss. Love, something he’d been completely bereft of since his Fall, flooded his chest and filled him with such joy he’d had to grip the blanket under himself to keep from floating away. Then came the real realization, the stomach-dropping, pinching dread of _ oh fuck I’m in love with an angel _. And that horrible feeling had never really left. 

It was hard to keep it under control, to keep Aziraphale from finding out because _ of course, _ the fucker could sense love. If he’d ever picked up on Crowley’s feelings with that particular ability he’d never said anything. Crowley couldn’t decide which was worse, the idea that the angel was completely oblivious or that he knew and didn’t care enough to mention it. Still, Crowley dealt with it as best he could, just like all the other aches and pains he had, because the other option was pushing Aziraphale away and that just wasn’t doable. 

But, oh, it hurt every time the angel was the one doing the pushing. Crowley never knew what would be too far, what would make Aziraphale balk and what would make him practically swoon. Too many times it was the former. Enough times that Crowley’s heart, so curious and optimistic despite what it had been through, began to lose that spark and accept that he would never be good enough. That he deserved this pain, and every other one he’d experienced.

Which was why he was having so much trouble now that the world hadn't ended, and they were together in every way he’d ever dared to dream. Aziraphale held him, kissed him, called him sweet names and doted on his every whim but Crowley’s poor, broken heart still ached with the pain of 6000 years of loneliness and rejection every time they were together. It was almost Pavlovian at this point. 

That wasn’t to say he didn’t feel happy when the angel touched him or said he loved him. He did, more than he’d felt in 6000 years of existing and roaming the planet. There were entire hours where he could forget the pain for a little while and just _ be _ , usually while he lay bundled up in Aziraphale’s arms in bed. But it would always come creeping back, that millennia-old feeling of _ not good enough, not worthy, not going to last. _

He had no idea how to tell Aziraphale, or if he even should tell him. The angel already knew about his physical pains, the ones leftover from his Fall and the ones he’d gathered over the years from Hell. It’d been kind of hard to hide when they’d begun spending so much time together. And when the angel had started talking about cottages in the South Downs Crowley had been backed into a corner. But he hadn’t figured out what to do about the bits he was still hiding. And it only got worse when they moved in together. 

“Aziraphale,” he’d call out in the middle of the night. He was always sure to be quiet so he wouldn’t actually hear him, though he sometimes desperately wished he would. “Please don’t leave, _please_ don’t leave me--” Over and over he’d plead, telling himself it wasn’t praying if he didn’t mention Her. Crowley was good at lying to himself and others.

Waking up every morning to the image of his angel asleep in the bed beside him was torture because all he could think about was w_ e could have had this years ago, I could lose this at any second _. He was mourning for what could have been, and for what he’d lose when the angel decided to once again push him away. It was all he could think about, even while he was safe in the other’s arms, even while Aziraphale poured love and lust and pleasure into Crowley’s very bones. 

It was all building up inside, pain and suffering that just didn’t make sense anymore, driving him to madness. What should have been the happiest time in his life--they had a lovely little house, with a gorgeous garden what more could he want?--was the most miserable. Crowley stopped tending to the flowers first, then the hedges, then the lawn. Aziraphale made several comments, mostly inquiring if Crowley was feeling well but he assured him he was fine. That demon did not get sick. That he was just testing the plants resolve to remain verdant and lush without his constant intervention. 

Not tending the plants gave him more time to hang around his angel. But even physical affection wasn’t calming the storm within him anymore. That didn’t stop him from hanging off Aziraphale at any given moment of the day, trying in vain to set himself right. 

“My dear,” Aziraphale started one such afternoon. Crowley had been in his lap for three hours, pressed so closely that the angel could barely turn the pages on his novel. “Are you sure everything is alright? You’ve seemed… restless for the past few weeks. Not to mention you’ve been clinging like anything.”

“M’sorry,” Crowley mumbled, willing his limbs to unlock from around Aziraphale’s body. Something inside him cracked and popped with a more than healthy dose of pain. “Didn’t know it bothered you.”

“It doesn’t!” Aziraphale assured him. “It’s just you seem terribly unhappy, more so than your usual attitude towards life.”

So he had begun to notice. And Crowley thought he'd been doing so well, keeping the angel from knowing all these years. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Aziraphale muttered something. Crowley made a curious noise, hoping the angel would repeat himself or change the subject. “I said, bullshit, dearest. Something is bothering you!”

It wasn’t often Azirphale swore, and when he did it meant he was extremely upset. Crowley didn’t _want_ to make his angel upset. But it seemed that he was damned either way, which was kind of funny, in a laugh until you rip your own hair out kind of way, if he thought about it too long. 

“I can’t explain it, drop it Aziraphale,” he begged, burrowing his face further into his lover’s neck. Aziraphale twisted as he did so, gripping Crowley’s chin lightly to make him look up. 

“Try for me, love? That’s all I ask.” Something inside Crowley snapped at that, like the last thread holding together an old favourite shirt. He could never deny Aziraphale anything. The words blistered in his mouth but there was no way he could keep them inside any longer. 6000 years of not knowing, of stopping himself from asking spilled out.

“_ Why aren’t I enough! _ ” he moaned, teeth clenched tightly. “I wanted this for years but it’s--it won’t last I know it because I’m _ not good enough _ ! And it _ hurts _ , angel, it hurts and I can’t make it stop even when you’re with me it never _ stops!” _

Aziraphale looked bewildered and completely caught off guard, even though he'd asked for this. “Crowley I don’t--”

“I want to be happy with this, but I _ can’t-- _ And I’ve given you _ everything--” _ Aziraphale was frantically setting his book aside while trying to soothe the demon in his lap with gentle murmurs. “I don’t have anything left, m’empty and--and m’tired of hurting…”

Aziraphale shushed him, finally getting is tea set on the side table so he could wrap Crowley’s trembling form in his arms. Part of the demon wanted to push him off, to get angry over all the times Aziraphale had done the same to him, to show him what it felt like. But a much larger part, the bit that had kept him tagging along after the angel like a lovesick puppy, stopped him. Instead, he allowed Aziraphale to comfort him, though it didn’t help as much as it should have. 

“Can you--If you could try again, to explain this to me dear, I’d appreciate it. I admit I’m a little lost,” Aziraphale said quietly once the demon had wound down a little bit. Crowley took a deep, shaky breath. He didn’t know where to start. 

“I’m not happy,” might as well rip the bandaid off right in the beginning, “I want to be, because this is everything I ever wanted. You, me, our side. But I’m not. I keep--” the hand he had wound in Aziraphale’s jacket travelled up to his own hair. “I keep thinking it won’t last, I’ll fuck it up again, and I don’t think I can handle that.”

Aziraphale had a pensive look on his face that slowly morphed into one of horror. “Is this… is this because of what I said--?”

“Every time I tried to--you would--and I--” The pain got worse if he dwelled on it, which was exactly what this conversation was forcing him to do. He could see in vivid detail every time Aziraphale had pulled away, every moment he had gotten his hopes up and had them dashed. “It doesn’t feel real.”

Aziraphale’s lip was quivering, and his eyes were glossy as he ran soft fingers over every inch of Crowley he could reach. “Oh, my love. I’ve been awful to you for so long. It’s not your fault you feel this way. You’re just trying to keep your heart safe.”

But Crowley knew that wasn’t true. “But I want to be happy with you, angel. If I could stop being so fucking--!” 

“Do not!” Aziraphale cut him off, tone serious. “It's not your fault, Crowley.”

Crowley, who has always forced himself to assume that it was, in fact, his fault, that the pain he felt was some sort of Divine Punishment, shook harder. If it wasn’t his fault, who was he supposed to be upset at? God, Aziraphale?

“I’ll admit that much of this is on me, always denying you. Always assuming that you’d be there for me no matter how many times I wasn’t there for you. It’s OK to be angry, to mourn the wasted time, love.” The angel sounded like he understood all too well what Crowley had been feeling. He made another curious noise, too distressed to actually speak. “Yes well, you aren’t the only one with regrets. Though I do think time has been less kind to you, in that sense.”

“I don’t regret it,” Crowley croaked. “And I’m not angry.” He was explaining this all wrong and making a mess of things as usual. “I-I’m scared.” Aziraphale hummed in acknowledgement. 

“A-and fuck angel, I’ve dealt with it for so long and I th-thought I could ignore it but I’m _ scared. _For 6000 years it hurt every time I saw you b-but it was OK because maybe someday we’d be--and now we are and I r-realised I can’t lose you again. I can’t.”

“You aren’t going to lose me. I’m done pushing you away Crowley. I’ll tell you that every day if you need to hear it,” Aziraphale promised. Crowley shook his head again. His chest felt like it was on fire, the aching pain rising up and up until it choaked him. “You deserve so much dearest.”

There wasn’t any chance of Crowley believing him right now. He’d spent far too long guarding himself against the hurt for it to be solved with a single conversation. But it at least gave him the tiniest bit of hope to cling to, just the briefest hint of _ it’s OK to feel like this, let it out. _

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whined. He felt a few strands of hair come loose from where he was gripping it so hard. If his throat hadn’t felt like it was closing up he would have sobbed. As it was his tears fell silently to soak into, and possibly ruin, the angel’s favourite coat. 

“It’s ok, Crowley, I’ll be here,” he assured him. “Would it be alright if you gave me your hands dear? You have such lovely hair and it’d be a shame to ruin it.” Aziraphale always knew exactly how hard to squeeze to keep him grounded. In this instance, it was quite hard. 

“I might have lied,” Crowley said quietly after some time. His voice was pathetic and it made him cringe. “I am a little angry.”

“As is your right, darling,” Aziraphale responded lightly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I--why did you keep turning me away? If you didn’t want to…” It’d been on his mind for hundreds of years after he’d eventually caught on to the fact that maybe Aziraphale wasn’t being truthful about his feelings. The realization hadn’t made the pain any better. 

The sigh Aziraphale let out was sad and spoke of many long nights asking himself the same thing. “I was afraid of what Hell might do to you, of what Heaven might do to me if they found out. I was worried you may have been--and I want you to know I _ do not _ think of you like this now--but I was worried you might have been tempting me.”

“Never,” Crowley gasped. He needed Aziraphale to know he’d never, ever do that. No matter how angry or hurt he was. 

“I know, I know Crowley. I was foolish to think otherwise.” Another even tighter squeeze of their hands. “You can be angry with me if you need to be.”

The tears were still flowing and he knew they would be for a while now that he was letting them. “I don’t want to be, but--”

“You don’t have to forgive me, or anyone else.” Outside the grey clouds cast a cool shadow over the cottage. “Not unless you want to.”

Crowley nodded. He realized he was still in Aziraphale’s lap and that the angel’s shoulder was completely soaked. It was actually rather uncomfortable, now that he thought about it. There was a crick in his spine and a burning in his knees that only got worse the more he thought about it. He didn’t move. 

“Do you--do you ever feel angry?” he asked, his voice a low, gruff whisper. He rarely saw Aziraphale angry, and the times he had it was usually directed at someone who deserved it. Irritation, frustration, yes, but almost never anger. 

“I do,” the angel answered to Crowley’s surprise. “I tried to ignore it but I have to admit I’ve been angry at a good number of people, or beings.”

“Gabriel?”

“And the others, yes. God too, if we’re being completely honest my dear boy.” He said it so casually Crowley had to look up. There was no deceit in those slate-grey eyes. “If it wasn’t for Her you wouldn’t have suffered, and humanity wouldn’t have had to go through so much. But then, there wouldn’t be anything without Her. It's confusing, to say the least.”

“I was angry at Her for a long time,” Crowley said, watching Aziraphale’s face. The angel’s expression was soft and full of remorse. Crowley didn’t like to talk about God, so he tried to change the subject. “And sometimes I still am, but I’m also glad we’re here.”

“As am I, my love.” Aziraphale adjusted their positions so one of his hands held Crowley’s while the other soothed his frazzled hair. ‘We can stay right here for as long as you want.”

Finally, Crowley felt the tears begin to stop. They’d be back, probably at an inconvenient time, but for now, they were gone. “My back hurts.”

“Mine too, though probably not as much as yours. Shall we move to a more comfortable location?” A brief moment of consideration, then Crowley nodded. He could feel his shoulder beginning to stiffen up as well. 

“Yeah, s’been a bad pain day,” he answered slowly, raising his face from the angel’s shoulder. “I might need help getting up.”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to nod. He slowly eased Crowley off his lap and onto the sofa before getting up and stretching himself. Then he took hold of Crowley’s forearms and helped him up, supporting his weight as Crowley’s knees gave out.

“Ow ow ow,” Crowley hissed, pillowing his head on Aziraphale’s chest. “Not moving for half the day was a bad idea.”

“I’m sorry, dearest, I should have remembered. Would you like to take a hot bath?” Aziraphale was all but carrying him now. They had specifically chosen this cottage because the master bedroom was on the first floor, and was therefore easy for Crowley to get to. 

“Only if you stay,” Crowley answered breathily, though if it because of the pain or something more tender he wasn’t sure. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Of course. I’ll get you situated then make us a new pot of tea, how does that sound?” It sounded almost perfect to the demon. He and Aziraphale both enjoyed the human luxury of bathing and had recently discovered the wonders of Lush bath products.

“Can’t you just miracle it? Want you to stay close,” he whined, much more like his old self than he’d been in weeks. Aziraphale never liked to miracle his food and drink, saying it always tasted different. 

“Fine, but just this once. You know it’s better when it’s done the human way.” With a contented wiggle, followed by a pained hiss, Crowley let himself be carried into their ensuite bath without any more fuss. This wouldn’t be the last time they had to talk about this particular issue, but as first times went it hadn’t been the absolute worst. Maybe a close second. 

“We can do it the human way later,” Crowley hummed, oblivious to the way Aziraphale flushed at the accidental innuendo. 

“Of course, Crowley. My beautiful serpent. Anything you want.” And so they spent the rest of the day in the bath and in bed, talking and being together because, more than anything, that was what Crowley needed.


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale could feel the human’s pain, just as he could feel their love. It didn’t work on ethereal beings, otherwise he would have known from the start how much Crowley loved him. But that was a blessing in and of itself because the pain he felt from humanity was more than enough.

In the beginning, before Adam and Eve were removed from Eden, it hadn’t been too bad. He'd feel the occasional twinge of sympathetic pain if one of them got hurt, or had a bad dream. Nothing serious. It got hard after the apple, and even harder when there were suddenly more and more of them. The first time he’d entered a real city Aziraphale had been physically ill, something that, up until that point, he hadn’t thought possible. 

He learned to control it a little bit, of course. He had to if he was going to keep doing his job. And Heaven had made it  _ very _ clear that not doing his job was not an option. It had been a long and horrible process. Aziraphale forced himself to be around humans in increasingly large numbers until he could stand to be around them without any outward ill effects. Internally their pain still ate at him horribly, but at least he could manage some semblance of normality. 

It did get better, over the years. He could go entire weeks without feeling so much as a pinch, keeping it all at bay as he bumbled through life. And if everything occasionally came back up, all in a deluge of anguish and heartbreak and terror? Aziraphale could manage, especially if it meant he could stay under Heaven’s radar and continue to spend time--even just a few brief moments--with a certain demon on Earth. 

By the time the Apocolypse came around, Aziraphale had been putting  _ feeling things _ for much too long. His time as the gardener for the Dowling estate had kept him busy, and he’d had to push through the constant whiffs of pain coming off the family and other servants for some time. 6 years, in fact. He tried not to think about it, what might happen when everything was settled. Luckily he had been very busy and that helped keep his mind off things. It’d be terribly embarrassing to have to sit out the End of Days because he was feeling a little under the weather. 

He’d even managed to hang on after too, all the way through their respective trials and the dinner, leading into the truely spectacular kiss they shared in the bookshop lobby. There was a brief moment, a week after it all when he thought things were about to fall apart, but he’d managed to stave it off with a few bottles of wine and some good company (Crowley). Then not long after that Crowley had had his outburst and Aziraphale could focus on helping him instead of dealing with his own feelings. 

Of course, there were tiny slip-ups. A few of those hitching pre-cry breaths at inopportune and inappropriate times. One or two incidents where a little bit of the misery bled through his internal walls and leaked out through his eyes; just a few drops that he was easily able to wipe away. It bled into his dreams and warped them, so much so he stopped sleeping altogether. It wasn’t like he  _ needed _ to anyway, and he’d rarely done so before he and Crowley were an item. All in all it wasn’t that bad, he could manage everyday things and not sleeping gave him more time to read. It wasn’t that bad. Crowley hadn’t even noticed!

But sometimes, when he’d just woken up from a nightmare or had a short crying spell in the loo, he thought that maybe things might not be fine. That he was going to break and shatter into a billion small pieces from the weight of humanity’s torment. But Crowley needed him right now, he was still shakey and unsure in their relationship and Azirapahale needed to be strong. It had only been a week, he couldn’t break down  _ now. _

In the end, he didn’t really have a choice.

Aziraphale had been making tea for himself and coffee for Crowley. The demon was still in bed but it had been a bit of a rough night for both of them, so he wanted to do something nice. The tea was steeping and the coffee brewing, so he decided to make up a plate of tea biscuits and fruit from the leftovers in the refrigerator. Crowley did so love fresh grapes; they were one of the few things he actually truly enjoyed eating. 

Plate set Azirapahel busied himself with fixing their drinks and getting everything onto a tray. Breakfast in bed was exactly what they needed, he told himself. It was easy to ignore the way his hands shook and made the china clatter. The rapid tinkling got worse as he went back up the stairs, becoming louder and louder as he struggled. For Heaven’s sake, he was still an angel, he shouldn’t be having difficulty lifting a tea tray. Aziraphale scowled at his own arms as he stepped into their bedroom. Just a few more seconds and he could put everything down. He could manage for a few more seconds surely?

On the bed, Crowley poked his head up from the pillows and blankets. He watched with a sleepy smile as Aziraphale approached with the tray. A few more steps and then he could sit down and gather himself a little. Unfortunately, and Azirapahel failed to notice one of his boxes of books jutting out from underneath the bed skirt. The edge caught his foot and he stumbled, then fell to his knees, the tray flying from his hands. The cups smashed against the hardwood, tea and coffee splashed all over his trousers, and the food rolled under the bed. Everything was ruined. 

“Oh shit, Aziraphale!” Crowley was on his feet in seconds, quickly miracling away the broken shards of china and puddles of drink. He quickly grabbed onto the angel’s hands to check for injuries. Aziraphale, shocked from his fall, kneeled on the floor silently, still shaking. 

“Are you alright, angel?” Crowley asked, finally satisfied that Azirapahel hadn’t cut himself on the broken bits. “That was a pretty nasty fall.”

His knees hurt, his palms and wrists hurt, his shoulders hurt. But nothing hurt more than the aching, shuddering thing finally breaking out from inside of him. Aziraphale could feel  _ everything _ , six-and-a-half years of pent up sympathetic, empathetic, and emotional pain bursting out and making him shake with the ferocity of it all. A sharp, keening sound began to escape from his throat without permission. It wouldn’t stop. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley got down on his knees as well, his hands tightening on the angel’s wrists. “Azirapahel are you hurt?”

There was no way he could answer, he was too deep inside his own personal Hell. He’d put this off too long, it was going to discorporate him for sure. Aziraphale curled forward and wrapped his own arms around himself as if anything could bring him enough comfort to weather this particular storm. 

“You’re scaring me, angel,” Crowley pleaded. They were both still dressed in their nightclothes. Crowley grabbed two handfuls of the sort cotton pyjamas Azirapahale wore and pulled him closer. “You have to tell me what’s going on.”

Aziraphale gasped in a breath. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t--!” His vision was completely blurred and he couldn’t hear right over the rushing screaming in his head. “It hurts!”

“What hurts?” Crowley asked, his hands fluttering over Aziraphale’s form looking for some other possible physical injury. Of course he wasn’t going to find anything, but the angel liked the way the other’s hands felt on him. They were grounding. 

It took three minutes for Aziraphale to find the strength to speak again “Their pain, all of it--” Crowley still looked impossibly confused and worried. All Aziraphale had wanted to do was make them a nice breakfast and enjoy the morning in bed. Why did this have to happen now?

“Who’s pain?” Those cool hands began to pet Aziraphale’s hair, his cheeks, his jaw. “Is this… an angel thing?”

Another keen, this one lower and more drawn out. The feelings were shifting now, from mostly pain to mostly sadness. Sadness that deep was almost worse than hurting and Aziraphale shuddered at the change. 

“H-humans. I can feel--I haven’t been--” He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t--

“Shhh,” Crowley hushed him. “I don’t really understand but I think you’re gonna be OK. Just breathe for me angel, like I’m doing.” 

They had gone through this exact same situation with their positions reversed a few times over the last week. Since their talk, Crowley had had more incidences of panic and fear that they had had to work through. Aziraphale knew what he needed to do from that, but actually doing it when he was the one in distress was difficult. He managed a few shaky breaths. 

“You’re doing good, keep doing that.” Crowley’s voice was low and soft against his ear. His arms were wrapped around Aziraphale now, holding him tightly and rocking side to side. That was also something they did when Crowley was upset, and it was infinitely comforting for the angel now. “All you have to do is breath, that’s it.”

Sadness gave way to frustration, then longing, and finally depression. It always came in cycles, forcing him to experience a gamut of different feelings until he finally fell into a pit of complete nothingness. At least, he often thought during times like that, he was lucky he never had to experience anger. That was more a demon’s curse than an angel’s. 

With the depression came a slowness to his every atom. At least it calmed his breathing and ended the shaking. 

“Better?” Crowley asked, pulling back so he could see Aziraphale’s face. But the angel stayed put where he was tucked against Crowley’s chest, completely limp and exhausted. “Aziraphale?”

With all the strength he could muster, Aziraphale shrugged. “I guess so. Terribly sorry.”

“You don’t seem better, angel. What was that?” Oh, the effort of speaking was so much more than he was capable right now but he needed to answer. 

“You know… I feel the human’s love. But I--their pain--other things--It’s so much--” He wasn’t making any sense. Luckily Crowley knew him about as well as he knew himself and was able to figure at least the basics out. 

“But if you always feel it, why’s it so bad right now? Has something happened? Is it…?” Crowley gestured up at the ceiling and then down at the floor. “Out respective ex-employers?”

“No, no. I’ve was--I’ve been ignoring it,” Azirapahel confessed into Crowley’s shoulder. “There was no time--and you  _ needed me _ .” 

A rumbling growl sounded in Crowley’s chest. “Idiot. You’ve gone and made it worse by ignoring it for so long, haven't you?” It sounded harsh, but Aziraphale knew the demon meant well. It was hard to hear the truth however; he’d been sacrificing his well being for far too long.

“I hate it,” Aziraphale moaned, ending with a sob. “It hurts and it’s cold and I’m  _ soft _ !”

“Shhh, angel. It’s ok now,” Crowley said, drawing him back in close and starting to rock them again. “It’ll pass, and until it does I’ll be here.”

Aziraphale couldn’t stop crying even though he felt wrung out and empty. “What if it doesn’t? What if I-I waited too long and I’m going to be like this forever?” he wailed, mashing his face further into Crowley’s chest. Like if he got close enough then the demon’s warmth could chase away the ache and thaw the ice inside him. 

“It will, it has before hasn’t it?”

A shuddery nod. Of course he was being overdramatic. He’d been through this before. Not this bad, but it was the same type of thing. He knew how this went; he’d experience bursts of emotion followed by numbness for a while until everything he’d been holding back had been worked out. There was no telling how long it would take for six-and-a-half years worth of pent up pain to be released; he hoped it wouldn’t be too long. 

“And it will this time too, angel. Promise.” Crowley ran his hands through Aziraphale’s curls, finding them more tangled than he expected. It had been embarrassing, the first time Crowley had insisted on brushing his hair, but now the motion felt familiar and calming.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale murmured into Crowley’s shirt. The demon’s body heat did little to cut the coldness inside him, but it felt better than being alone. 

“You keep telling me not to apologize for shit like this, so you know what I’m going to say.” Aziraphale began to gather his strength to argue that this was  _ entirely _ different from that and that the demon was being absolutely preposterous, but Crowley hushed him. “Don’t even try it, angel. Do you think you can stand?”

A quick check-in with his legs--still crumped up underneath him and awkwardly angled over Crowley’s lap--before he nodded. “I think so, just give me a moment.”

But Crowley had other ideas. As soon as Aziraphale gave the go-ahead the demon was standing somewhat stiffly and drawing Aziraphale up with him. “There we go, that’s better.”

“Crowley you’ll hurt yourself!” The angel was more than aware of Crowley’s chronic pain, and he hated to see his lover do anything that might make that worse. 

“S’OK angel, I feel alright this morning,” Crowley assured him, taking Aziraphale’s hands in his and leading him towards the bed. “Why don’t you lay back down for a bit, while I go make us some more tea?”

“But I don’t--” Crowley was already pushing him to lay down, miracling the rest of the dropped items to reappear in the kitchen. 

“You’ve been taking such good care of me, Aziraphale. Just bloody let me do it for you now.” That hadn’t been exactly what Aziraphale had meant though and he forced himself to clarify. It felt similar to sobering up, nasty aftertaste and all. 

“Can I come with you? I don’t--if it’s not too much trouble I’d like to be close to you, when it happens again…” Really he didn’t think he could handle being alone right now. There was a good chance the numbness would subside soon, and who knew what feeling would replace it. It would be better to stick close to Crowley, in case he was overwhelmed again. And because he liked being near his lover. 

“If that’s what you want sure,” Crowley said, once again offering his arm. Aziraphale hesitated a moment, still afraid of hurting the other, before taking it and letting himself be led out of the bedroom. It was slow going between Crowley’s swinging saunter and Aziraphale’s slow, wavering steps. He was exhausted and beginning to regret not laying down and insisting Crowley miracle up the tea by the time they reached the kitchen. It looked the same as it had less than an hour ago, of course, quiet, clean, and homey. 

“Now why don’t you sit at the table and I’ll fix you a cuppa?” Crowley asked, already settling the kettle on the hob. “Were those the last of the biscuits?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale answered morosely, picking at a loose thread on his pyjamas. 

“It doesn’t matter, toast and jam sound good to you?” It was a little late for breakfast now, but toast and jam did sound very good. Especially since they had gone to that lovely little artisan farmer’s market the other week and picked up some truly extraordinary jams and jellies. Crowley was partial to the slightly bitter black currant jam, while Aziraphale favoured the strawberry. 

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale hummed, resting his head in his hand on their reclaimed wood kitchen table. He was normally a firm believer of “elbows off the table” but the weight of his own body was a little much to hold up at the moment, so he could make an exception. “Do we still have—?”

“The strawberry? You finished the last jar but I snuck an extra into our cart when you weren’t looking.” Crowley knew him  _ so well _ . He’d been able to predict exactly which flavour would be the angel’s favourite and made sure they had more than enough. The realization brought on a fresh wave of tears. 

“Oh, oh no!” Aziraphale sobbed, letting his head fall forward into his forearms against the table. Immediately Crowley was there, pressing a warm mug of tea into his hands and stroking over his hair. 

“It’s OK, we knew this was going to happen. Just let it out.” Crowley continued to whisper assurances to him, encouraging him to hold the mug and feel it’s warmth. “Focus on this, tell me how it feels.”

“Warm,” Aziraphale stuttered. “It—it’s the mug you bought me for one of the sh-sh-shop’s anniversaries.” Indeed it was, the horrible little cartoon that had been painted on the side faded and chipped. He could barely remember what the pictures had looked like, though he remembered being less than impressed. Crowley, demon that he was, loved the idea of humorous coffee mugs. What could be worse than unfunny cartoons before you got your caffeine fix, he’d said. 

“And the tea?”

Aziraphale sniffed, which was a little difficult with all the crying he’d been doing. “Twining’s.”

“Not my favourite but I know you like it. You have simple taste in tea, unlike your obsession with food.” Were they really chatting about tea brands? It was actually keeping him from focusing on everything going on inside it. He wasn’t drowning this time, Crowley acting like a fortunate piece of driftwood to cling to in a storm. 

“T-Twining’s is perfectly acceptable, Crowley. A-and just because y-you have a limited palette--” Crowley began to sputter indignantly. At some point, he’d kneeled down to look into Aziraphale’s downcast face. 

“You never complained about my palette when I was picking out our wine last week,” he growled playfully, fingers dancing up the angel’s knees and thighs. They were solid pressures that was more grounding than ticklish or sexual.

“I suh-suppose not, my d-dear.” The tears were already beginning to ebb again, forcing him to sink back into that cold numbness. But the tea in his hands was warm and the feel of Crowley’s hands on him was comforting so it was a little less intense. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Aziraphale sipping the tea and Crowley just being there with him. Eventually, the mug was empty and Crowley had begun resting his head in the angel’s lap instead of stroking him. Aziraphale eventually ran out of tea and instead turned to stroke Crowley’s hair to give his still-shaky hands something to do. The demon hummed in pleasure, casting a lazy eye up at him.

“Do you still want that toast?” Across the kitchen their toaster popped, two freshly browned slices of sourdough steaming invitingly. 

“If you could, dearest; and more tea--o-or cocoa, instead?” Aziraphale answered hopefully, tucking a few strands of hair behind Crowley’s ears. Without his glasses on the demon’s eyes were expressive and warm. At least they were when he was looking at Aziraphale.

To his credit, Crowley didn’t so much as roll his eyes at the indulgent request. “Anything angel.” He rose to his feet without issue--at least Aziraphale could be sure Crowley he’d been lying about feeling OK today. Hopefully, one day soon they’d both be feeling alright, and he wouldn’t have to worry about those kinds of things. 

  
“Thank you, Crowley. You really are too good to me.” Crowley made a sort of half grunt half hum in response--his typical reaction to any type of praise. Aziraphale knew it was appreciated though, especially when the demon laid out a spread of toast with his  _ favourite _ strawberry jam and cocoa made with cinnamon--just perfect. It wasn’t a cure for what ailed him, but it did ease the symptoms. How was someone supposed to focus on how much they hurt when surrounded by so much love. He smiled into his plate, just a little bit, Maybe Crowley was right, he would be OK, in a little while. 


End file.
